


Squint

by Axis2ClusterB, o_contrary



Series: Show and Tell [3]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Canon-Typical Homophobia, Drunkenness, Gen, juice/happy if you tilt your head and..., nearly rated m for language, predictably foul language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axis2ClusterB/pseuds/Axis2ClusterB, https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_contrary/pseuds/o_contrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>So JC had turned up at T-M.  For some reason, Happy keeps thinking of him as Juice, and puts it down to his natural aversion to wastefulness.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Happy will never admit it, but he’d extended his stay in Charming, just to see.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Happy gave Juice Jax's number, but he's still trying to figure him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squint

**Author's Note:**

> This will not make much sense if you haven't read the previous parts.
> 
> Unbeta'd per our usual standards, but extensively read over between us, so please forgive remaining fails.
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters from Sons of Anarchy belong to Kurt Sutter, Sutter Ink, Linson Entertainment, Fox 21, and FX Productions. This is a transformative work of fiction; no copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made on any of it, please don't sue.

So JC had turned up at T-M. For some reason, Happy keeps thinking of him as Juice, and puts it down to his natural aversion to wastefulness.

Happy will never admit it, but he’d extended his stay in Charming, just to see. 

Jax, while not the most taciturn member of the mother charter, seemed to warm up to Ju- JC immediately – or at least his Indian – which is pretty much on par with Happy’s expectations. 

Chibs had walked up to get a bead on the newcomer, and Happy had overheard something about computers from Jax, the kid nodded, and Chibs looked like he’d been bestowed a great favor from on high, in Mass, if the clasped hands and shit-eating grin were anything to go by. He’d waved for Ju- JC- oh, fuck it, _Juice_ – to follow him at a nod from Jax, but no sooner had he begun the grand tour – which is stupid, the place is pretty self-explanatory, but then, most people don’t just come in off the street, either – started than Chibs’s phone had rung, and he’d passed Juice off to Happy with a hurried explanation about McKeevey.

And Happy? Happy, now, for some reason known only to God – because Happy himself is totally at a loss – can’t seem to stop pouring tequila down Juice’s – and the kid had taken to the nickname better than Happy had figured on; he’d been half-joking, for fuck’s sake – throat.

Happy’s sort of still trying to work out what made him give the kid the number in the first place, and a week later, he’s still got shit. Logically, he knows the reasons, but following that same logic, there’s hundreds of people – maybe not _hundreds_ , but plenty – Happy could have done the same thing for over the years. He’s never felt possessed to actually do so until coming across this perpetually slightly-out-of-place-kid by sheer circumstance.

Something about him keeps catching Happy, but, whatever that is, much to his frustration, keeps eluding his attempts to examine it. 

It’s definitely not his ability to hold liquor; from the scene the kid made after that first shot of tequila, Happy wouldn’t have been surprised if it was his first shot, period. 

Could be something about the way he works – he involves himself totally from the most basic level to the completion, and his respect for the bike is evident in every step. But commendable as that is, Happy knows a lot of mechanics, and that’s not an unusual trait, either.

“… seriously, man, I can’t even, my first – ” Juice rambles at the countertop, and Happy reels a little, caught unawares. He has no idea how Juice got on this subject, and he’s damned certain he doesn’t want to know what’s at the end of it. “ – was just learning the ropes when that ’75 Fat Bob turned up at the garage – ”

Garage unspecified, Happy notes with interest – and no small amount of relief – before it’s diverted to The Bike, because who the hell gets one of those as their first foray into motorcycle mechanics? Apparently Juice, that’s who.

Happy would say he’s lead a charmed life, but that doesn’t track _at all_ with the little Happy knows of Juice from his own brief personal observation and some discreet poking around. For all he seems like the most easy-going, chill guy in the world, like he should have the fucking Happy moniker, something about the affable persona doesn’t quite fit all the time.

He startles way too easy, for one, and the look on his face when Happy asked him about liking dick – hunted, haunted. Most situations in which Happy sees those expressions on a dude’s face, it’s a good day for him, but that… he thinks, maybe, he was feeling protective, and now he _can’t stop_ drenching the kid with tequila, and he still can’t figure out _why_.

Juice is waxing rhapsodic about how he ended up trading in the ‘Bob for the Indian and how that was one of the best days of his life as Happy pours another fucking shot – and rewinds what all’s been said, just a bit, at the horrified look Juice sends him.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me,” he accuses, sloppily, unable to focus his eyes enough to actually direct the finger he’s trying to point. Happy’s too busy backtracking to the first shot to do more than wave at him to drink it anyway, prospect.

Juice had looked almost spooked, which was a first… except when Happy had asked about him liking dick.

That must be it.

Happy snorts and helps himself to his own shot. Shit, he’d mostly poked Juice about the dick thing – he knows as well as anyone that sometimes it’s easier to lie by telling the truth – to be sure the kid wouldn’t turn up anywhere wrapped up in a Pride flag or some shit. Of course, Juice doesn’t know Tig yet, but with him around willing to stick his dick in pretty much everything, ‘your body, do what you want with it’ is pretty much the Club’s adopted stance out of necessity, and Happy personally usually doesn’t care enough about people to worry about what they’re doing with their various parts, provided there are no kids involved.

Just keep it on the way, way down low, where it can’t hurt the Club.

And if the Juice’s record is anything to go by – clean as a whistle, but for a sealed juvenile file that Happy only wants to know the contents of if he can kill someone over them, because that one little verbal exchange of theirs had, clearly now with the benefit of hindsight, given away a lot more than Juice is comfortable with – he’s damn good at keeping his secrets.

Nothing there for anyone to use against them later.

He sets a fresh shot down in front of Juice, and the kid looks at him with so much dismay and wounded betrayal on his face, Happy can’t help but laugh, which only makes Juice look that much more forlorn. “You really _are_ trying to kill me.”

“I prefer to think of it as a crash course in partying, Sons style,” Happy tells him solemnly. Hell, he isn’t even officially a prospect yet, but if he doesn’t get voted in, Happy will eat his helmet. Maybe he sets off some kind of chemical reaction in people, like what makes them adopt strays and coo at babies; for all the ribbing he’s taking about his weak tolerance, it’s all good-natured. Chibs, who seems to think prospects need nurturing or some shit, but thus far has had excellent instincts as far as who can cut it – had been all set to take Juice under his wing before getting called away, and Happy’s pretty sure that was an O-face Jax had given the Indian. 

Shit, Happy had been tempted to, too, but he knows from way back that you get a better read on people when you can make them show their hand.

Point in the kid’s favor: he’d shown just enough to satisfy Happy at the time and given not one damn thing else. Happy… kind of wants to force his hand a little more.

Just to be sure.

He studies Juice when he passes the next shot; he’s pretty well toasted, all sloppy smiles and laughing at _everything_ that doesn’t come in the form of tequila, full of praise for how awesome everything is, but he’s not _talkative_ in the way some drunks are, who tell their entire life story to any person or inanimate object with the misfortune to cross paths with them. It’s another point in his favor as far as keeping secrets. Happy’s found over the years that given an ample supply with a side of patience, alcohol’s about as good as sodium pentathol in most cases where extra truth is in order.

Juice stares at the shot and shakes his head, eyes swimming in their sockets. “No, man, like… I am a 5’11 bottle of tequila right now.”

“Keep up, prospect,” Happy goads, because this really is Interrogation Tactics 101, and all Happy needs from him is a little more. Leverage is one thing, Happy’s a huge fan of leverage in general terms, but he has an idea what this is, and all he really wants to do with it is make sure it won’t bite them in the ass.

Happy knows he’s a cold motherfucker, but he’s not completely heartless.

Jax walks over just as Juice gives Happy a panicky look, which, what the hell. “You looking to get rid of me already. Only people want me wanna hurt me.”

What. The. Hell.

Jax gives Happy a sidelong look. “Happy, how many times do we have to tell you, no terrorizing prospects until they’re official?”

Happy gives his best innocent face, not even having to act. “I was being friendly! Chibs asked me to show him – ”

“ _Around_ ,” Jax groans.

“ – the ropes, and here we are,” Happy finishes over the interruption, then gives the Cuervo bottle a considering look. “Maybe he’d be better off on whiskey, said pills and blow are more his poison.”

Jax looks faintly horrified at the suggestion. “Jesus, don’t switch him up now, we’ll all drown in the river of vomit.”

It’s a good point. Happy nudges the shot glass closer to Juice. “One more.”

Juice scowls at him, or tries to, but gives up on an aggravated sigh. He doesn’t take the shot so much as mostly spill it mostly in the vicinity of his mouth, then tries to slam the glass down with an arm clearly gone to rubber. He swallows hard, staring at nothing, and both Happy and Jax back up.

“Think he’s gonna blow?” Jax whispers. Happy shrugs, but looks over his shoulder for one of the empty buckets kept behind the bar for just this purpose. A weak burp sounds behind them, and they both turn to look at Juice, who has managed to prop his chin in one hand and is staring, or trying to, at the CCTV screen. “Why there are no tits?” he asks, nonsensically, before his head hits the table with a ‘thunk,’ followed by the thud of his body hitting the floor. 

“Prospect down!” Jax howls, then loses his shit laughing, and Happy throws his arms in the air. He really has no idea what’s going on anymore, and it seems like the thing to do.

Jax is still laughing when Happy leans over the counter, trying to decide if Juice is playing possum. He won’t get to sit in on the vote, but it’ll be a shame if he misses the after. Well, for him. Everyone else will have no problem having a prospect vote-in party without the prospect actually in attendance.

“C’mon, Hap, gimme a hand,” Jax finally wheezes. “Let’s get him outta here before Clay comes back.”

This is good, Happy thinks, might be just the right amount of inadvertent poking at the kid’s ability to keep secrets. If Juice can keep his hands to himself with Jax under one of his arms, he’s probably good enough at keeping secrets to meet the Club standard. Pretty much everyone wants to fuck Jax, probably even that decrepit old police chief in Clay’s pocket. 

Happy nods at Jax and goes around the bar to nudge at the vaguely Juice-shaped lump none-too-gently before stooping down to swat his cheek. “C’mon, Juice, time for school.”

“Juice?” Jax asks, disbelief coloring his tone. “You named the puppy?”

Happy is saved from having to answer by Juice waking up. Kind of. “’s one syba- sylba- _syllable_ ,” he slurs up at Jax, , so fucking earnest Happy has to swallow a snicker. “Hip- Hop-,” he stops, looking irritated, presumably at his tongue’s refusal to work, and points at Happy while Jax fucking convulses with laughter. “ _Him_ ,” Juice finally finishes loftily, “Tol’ me two of ‘em s’wasteful.”

Jax is not very helpful in getting Juice to a semblance of standing on account of having to snigger every other second about ‘Hip Hop Happy’. 

Happy will gut the first person he hears that from outside the Club, maybe after busting a move to aid in getting the point across how very screwed they are.

As he and Jax manhandle Juice back to the dorm area, he notices Juice’s hands aren’t wandering, and he’s getting pretty close to satisfied that he won’t end up having to gut him, either.

He’s surprised at how much the thought pleases him; usually it goes the other way.

There’s one more thing he can test, but it’s so unlikely to come up within the Club he’s not sure it’s even worth it.

There’s always the Tig factor, though.

Juice jerks awake again, sort of, as they turn down the hall to the dorm, and warbles something under his breath about genies and bottles and rubbing the right way, and both Jax and Happy drop him like a hot potato. 

“Was that – ?” Jax asks, alarm practically radiating off of him in waves.

“Yeah,” Happy responds shortly, doing a grim reevaluation of all the shit he’s already reevaluated, which mostly makes his head hurt.

“Prospect.” Jax toes him with his boot, and Juice looks up, eyelids barely staying open. “The hell are you singing whatserface for?”

 _When two dudes are carrying your drunk ass down the hall_ , Happy tags on mentally.

“Wha- I singin’?” Jax toes him again. “S’a’thing, at th’ ol garage, guys thought I was a – one of those dudes who live in a bottle and grant wishes, ‘cos I’m like, fast. With the parts and repairs and stuff. Would sing t’me alllll the time.” He picks up coherence for just long enough for a triumphant finish… and passes back out.

Jax looks like he can’t decide whether to be pleased or horrified. “How ‘bout we just never speak of this again,” he offers, leaning down to start trying to get Juice back up.

“You got it, bro.” It’s a little easier to get him slung between them with them working together this time, and the rest of the short trip to the open bed is mercifully uneventful. They manage to get Juice poured on the bed before Jax goes rummaging through one of the wardrobe drawers, unearthing a pair of sweats. “Perfect, I don’t even recognize these. Help me with his pants, huh?”

Prospect-trolling is a time-honored tradition, but Happy is a little uncomfortable – the sensation is so foreign it takes him a moment to recognize it – at the suggestion given the scraps of info he’s privy to, but reaches for the oversized cargoes before Jax can call him on the hesitation.

He nearly catches an elbow in the eye for it, followed by Juice sitting straight up and spitting out very clearly, “Fuck. Off.” The kid never opens his eyes and falls back on the pillows like he’s been pushed. Jax’s eyes are wide when he looks back at Happy. “Solid reflexes, I guess,” he says, tone suggesting some explanation would be welcome but not demanded right at this moment.

Shrugging, Happy reaches for Juice’s pants again, keeping his touch as light as he can manage, and repeats the process in reverse with the sweats. Jax grabs Juice’s wallet and chain, and tucks them into one boot with its sock, which he stashes in the back corner of the closet. His smokes go on top of the dresser while Happy works on getting the shirt off of Juice, turning him on his side when he’s finished in the event of the tequila making a reappearance.

When he catches sight of Juice’s back out of the corner of his eye, he sees scars. A lot of them. Some are faint, some are really not, but they all look old. Some are clearly identifiable as coming from a belt – probably with a wicked buckle – others, cigarette burns.

One looks like a really shitty attempt at shanking.

Jax sees him staring and raises a brow. “You want some alone time?”

He’s joking, and has no way of knowing how not funny that is right now. Happy flips him off and tries to figure out how to explain himself.

Somehow, and Happy is kind of wondering if he’s been body-snatched or some shit right now, it feels like a betrayal to let Jax know about the scars, and Happy knows he’s not going to push any more, thinks he knows enough that he won’t come to regret giving Juice Jax’s number. “Think we should draw on him?”

Jax’s face lights up for a second, then he frowns a little. “Nah, you’ve already had to dodge him once, and he looks all peaceful and shit. C’mon, we’ve got a drink or three to get in before Clay comes back.”

That is a plan Happy is very, very on board with. “Lead the way, brother.”

Jax thumps him once more on the back as they walk back toward the bar area. “He’s gonna be so confused,” he chuckles.

Happy catches Chibs looking at them with something like suspicion as they emerge, and hopes like hell all of the alcohol he plans to drink will just obliterate this whole uncertain day from his memory like it’s surely doing to Juice.

~*~

Much later, after the vote, and the party, and the after-party have wound down, Happy finds himself checking on Juice before locating a couch to collapse on.

Just to be sure he hasn’t choked on his own vomit.

Sure enough, he’s still breathing, but looks like he’s shivering, curled up and small like a kid. Vulnerable. 

Happy thinks about the scars, and looks at Juice’s bare torso, and with a sigh, draws his own shirt off. He knows where his spare shit is without turning a light on, and it’s got sleeves to help ward off the chill. Stepping closer carefully and making sure to approach from the front, he starts humming that godawful song as he reaches out to try and sort Juice’s arms out to get him in the shirt.

It works like a charm, and no one else is ever going to know about it.

Happy grins to himself as he shuts the door behind himself. The kid really is going to be so confused.

That is, of course, the most important thing.

 

~End

**Author's Note:**

> My (contrary) love of Happy sometimes still makes me worry about myself, and I haven't even finished the series.


End file.
